Season of Self Discovery
by Gray Duck
Summary: What happened after Playing With Fire? Here's my humble offering. G/S (sort of), S/N friendship, S/OC. FINISHED!! Please R & R!!
1. Default Chapter

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Part One: Nevada - Stay

She looked him in the eyes, unblinking. "I do," she said. "You know, by the time you figure it out it, it really could be too late."

She thinks back on that day and she shakes her head. She's not sure what she was thinking. Perhaps that Grissom would pull her into his arms and take her, right there in the doorway.

Or not.

It wasn't too late; not yet. She hadn't moved on. In truth she didn't know if she ever would, given the opportunity. Instead, she plans a trip. She knows deep down she wants to make him sweat, just a little, but she tells the team she needs a little perspective. A little time away. Given the extent of her injuries from the explosion, no one second guesses her.

She wants to see his face when she tells him; when she puts in for two whole weeks of vacation time. She would be content with just one word – stay. No need for elaboration about the lab or the team. 

She gets a surprised look instead. A flicker behind the cool blue pools. Perhaps interest, or concern. Not what she wanted.

The morning that she leaves, she and Nick stand in the parking lot after shift. He is just getting off, bleary eyed and exhausted. She is well-rested and ready. She slides her spare key off the ring and offers it to him. His hand closes around the key, catching her fingers in his grasp. He studies her face and the fingers fighting to escape his hold.

He knows. He knows it's nothing about perspective at all. Well, maybe if the perspective is regarding a certain graveyard shift supervisor.

"I'll stop by every other day," he says. "I'll water the plant and feed Sunshine," he refers to an orange cat she recently took in after another family in her building couldn't afford to keep him. "But I'm not cleaning that litter box," he smiles at her.

"Nicky," she says in a stern voice. She fixes him a glare. 

"Okay, Sar. For you."

She smiles at him, then, dotingly.

"I wish you'd stay," he says, low. She strains to hear him over the traffic on the street. "I know he does, too."

"Sunshine?" She smiles coyly now.

"You know who I'm talking about," he peers over his sunglasses at her.

"It's not good enough, Nicky."

He shrugs. "I know. I tried."

"I'd better be going," she says. Her eyes dart toward the exit. She's watching for him. Whether she wants to see him or avoid him, she's not quite sure.

"Sar, be careful," Nick tells her. "Call as often as you can. Collect."

She shakes her head.

"Postcards?"

She smiles. "Deal."

He pulls her toward him, crushing her slim frame to his chest. "I'll miss you," he says.

"Me too," she mumbles into his shoulder. She pulls away as soon as he allows her. She smiles at him one more time before getting in her vehicle. She toots the horn at him as she drives off.

Grissom watches the scene through his office window, quietly marveling at the unlikely friendship between the smooth Texan and the square daughter of hippies from Northern California. 

He sits back in his chair and wonders when Nicky had become closer to Sara than he had.

Sara has it all mapped out in her mind. She wants to make a circular pattern, see some of the country that she had, thus far, largely ignored. She decides to start out on Hwy 15 heading up into Utah. From there she'll take 70 over to Colorado, then head north on 25 to Wyoming and up into Montana. Then from there she'd take 94 east through Montana into North Dakota, then south on 29 through South Dakota and into Nebraska. From there she'd take 80 west back into Colorado and hook back up with Hwy 70 and ultimately, complete the circle back through Utah into Nevada. 

She wonders if she can make a trip of that magnitude in two weeks, but she likes to drive. She likes driving for days; being alone with her thoughts and the open road. She wants to turn her heart inside out, dump out the contents, and examine the findings. She wants to spend some time thinking about the cause of her restlessness. Even though her job is hard and her life is uncomfortable sometimes, she loves it. She loves the challenge and the environment and - -

Him. Yes. Him.

And now he knows, she's sure this time. She was as obvious as a blow to the head with a sledgehammer the last time, in his office, after the explosion.

Nick tells her she has a set of iron balls. Is that a compliment? If so, she finds it a little absurd. And kind of, well, sexist and creepy. But she knows what he means. She's brave, and strong, and unafraid, and he's impressed by that sort of thing. He's just not terribly eloquent. Kind of like someone else she knows. 

This. What the hell does "this" mean? Thinking about it makes her angry and she accelerates to pass a carload of senior citizens on the interstate. She turns the radio up.

"And you say," she sings along. "Stay."


	2. Utahstone

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Part Two: Utah – Stone

The first night of her trip she pulls off the interstate at a clean, cozy looking motel advertising low rates, cable television and air conditioning. She checks in for the night and then walks up the road to a convenience store. She buys frozen macaroni and cheese and microwaves it on the premises. The clerk gives her a strange look. She takes her supper outside and sits on the curb, listening to the hum of the traffic while she stabs at the noodles with a plastic fork. 

It suddenly strikes her that her grand adventure is kind of depressing.

She wanted to put distance between herself and Grissom. She may have wanted to hurt him, just a little. And yet here she is, eating a cheap frozen dinner alone, like always. 

Some adventure. She wonders if her life is her job and vice versa, and while she believes that the answer is probably yes, she is at a loss about how to correct this. How does one get a life, she wonders. Grissom wanted her to get a life, and so she did.

Right?

Was the problem that the life had been with another person, and not a life of her own? What was the difference, anyway? Either way it was a life, right? And he had punished her for it.

Men are such assholes.

She picks up a stone from the pavement. It is smooth and polished, like a treasure. She thinks perhaps a child has dropped it. It's a dappled stone, blues and grays, swirled with white. It makes her think of him. It is cool in her hand, and it makes her think of his coolness toward her, and the way he waved his hand between the two of them when he said he didn't know what to do about "this." The color of the stone is like his eyes, the way they change from gray to blue with his mood or a different shirt. 

She sighs, and while she's tempted to throw it out onto the street to be run over, repeatedly, by cars, she slips the stone into her pocket instead. She rolls her eyes and brushes the hair out of her face. She feels pathetic.

She thinks about the ribbon of road that stretches and tangles out in front of her, and she smiles. So she's a little depressed. Her grand adventure may seem pathetic now, but why worry? There's plenty of road left. 

After dinner, she selects some magazines and walks back to the motel. The two cable TV channels are showing professional wrestling and scrambled porn. Well, she's not all too certain that it's porn, but there seems to be plenty of flesh-colored blobs and a lot of moaning. She turns off the television and picks up a magazine. The cover promises that she'll be blown away by ten new summer hairstyles. She wonders if perhaps, in their enthusiasm to sell magazines, the publishers of this particular title are a little overexcited about hair. After all, it's just hair.

She wishes for the first time that she were more like Catherine. Catherine could have any man she wanted. Most men were wrapped around her little finger before she even opened her mouth. And Catherine was interested in things like hairstyles. Yes, there was no denying that Cath was good at her job. But underneath the job, she was all woman. Not science girl, like Sara. She wonders, not for the first time, if there's something wrong with her, biologically; If she's missing some all-important, yet somehow easily overlooked, particle of DNA that turns girls into women. She may be 31 years old, chronologically, physically, but emotionally - -

She wonders if maybe she's just not – quite there. If maybe she were – there, she would be more appealing to Grissom. If she were closer to him in age, or if she were more of a woman and less of a girl…maybe there would be a chance for her. Because obviously, she decides, he's not interested at all in what she is. 

Suddenly she feels very lonely, but not for Grissom, which strikes her as odd, because she's in love with him and he hurt her and she feels very needy all of a sudden. She pulls her cell phone from her bag and dials a familiar number. 

"You've reached Nick Stokes with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I can't take your call right now, but please leave a message and I'll get right back to you."

"Hey, Nicky, it's Sara. There's no emergency or anything. I just – felt like calling. Maybe I'll call again in a few days. Take care. Bye."

Her only real friend at all is little more than a kind, dependable coworker. There are all sorts of people that she knows, a little, but they are acquaintances, not friends, and she feels as though her so-called life isn't really a life at all. 

She sighs, and reads the article with the hairstyles and then a couple of articles about being more spontaneous in bed. She likes a couple of the shorter hairstyles and thinks about cutting her hair as part of her grand adventure. And she thinks perhaps she will be more spontaneous in bed, someday, when she has someone to go to bed with. 

She falls asleep on the first night of her trip, sad and alone, and the grand adventure hasn't provided her with any life-altering insights yet.

But in the morning when she wakes up she has a voice mail from Nicky, with a funny story about Warrick and Catherine and an encounter with a pronghorn antelope who stumbled upon a crime scene, and she's not sad or alone anymore. 

For tomorrow is, after all, another day.


	3. dogs

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Part Three: Colorado – Dogs

She sits in a dark and greasy pub that doesn't have a sign on the front, an unopened pack of cigarettes on the bar in front of her. She drinks amoretto sours, one after the other after the other, and still feels as sober as the moment she walked in. 

A dark and greasy man leers at her from two stools over. "Not from around here, are you," he yells over the country-western music and drunken conversation. He smells like beer and b.o. and one of those colognes that are normally featured in the locked cases at dime stores.

She shakes her head at him, answering only because she doesn't want to seem rude. 

"Honey," the bartender mercifully interrupts their exchange. "He knows you ain't from around here." She smiles at Sara with vacant, bloodshot eyes. "That dog knows every female within a 50 mile radius of that bar stool." She gives the dark and greasy man a slow and satisfied grin. "You leave her alone, Hank. Go crawl up someone else's skirt tonight, honey."

Hank, the dark and greasy man, scowls at her and slides off the stool. He's on the prowl.

Sara takes another swallow of her drink and wonders if being christened Hank seals one's fate in the lyin'-cheatin'-dog category. She snorts at this possibility and taps her pack of cigarettes against the heel of her left hand.

The bartender with the bloodshot almond eyes reappears. "Need matches, Hon?"

Sara shakes her head and pulls a zippo out of her jacket pocket. She lights a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling through her nose, blowing smoke like a cartoon bull.

"You wanna tell me why you're here, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, all alone?"

Sara shrugs. "No reason, really."

The bartender nods like an old sage. "It's man trouble, ain't it, darlin'? I can always tell. Young, pretty girl like you, out here all alone. You're lookin' to find yourself, aren't you?" She crosses her arms and looks at Sara expectantly. Seeing no objection, she continues. "Honey, you ain't gonna find yourself here," she says matter-of-factly. "All you're gonna find here is a bunch of cheap jackalope plaques and some tacky T-shirts up the road at the Kum-N-Go." Her gaze is surprisingly level, considering her bloodshot eyes. "Whatever it is you're lookin' for is on the inside. Unless, of course, you're lookin' to have a one night stand with a cowboy who took twelve years to get an eighth grade education." She winks knowingly at her. "If that's what you're looking for, you came to the right place, little gal."

Sara shakes her head and smiles, slowly. She likes this woman, she decides. The lines on her face tell the story of a life filled with joys and disappointments, and she undoubtedly knows a thing or two about heartbreak. 

Holding up her empty glass, Sara speaks. "Can I have another?"


	4. running

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Part Four: Wyoming – Running 

The dashed white lines blur together into one fuzzy one that seems to extend beyond the horizon. Town after town speeds past. The thinks she's in Montana, but she's not sure and is enjoying herself too much to stop and check. She's burning rubber and time and distance, and it feels good; his face is not as distinct in her mind this morning as it was the morning before.

His memory is not vapor - not yet. He still appears to her occasionally as a specter. Late yesterday his voice was the DJ's on the radio; the night manager at the cheap roadside motel had his shuffling walk. The blue stone is still in her pocket. 

He is everywhere, here.

She stops at a convenience store to refuel, use the bathroom, and buy some supplies: mineral water, wheat thins, postcards, and a "Little Tree" car deodorizer that smells like vanilla.

She chooses her postcards carefully. Catherine and Lindsey get a very feminine card, flowers in a meadow. The message is very short, succinct, in handwriting as neat as she can bother herself with:

Cath and Lindsey – 

Its beautiful here – quiet and peaceful. I think the two of you would like it.

Be home soon!

- Sara

Warrick's was a snow-capped mountain, deep, cool, and placid, sort of like him. Her message to him is superficial, solely about the job. She doesn't understand why, but she doesn't want to say anything more to Grissom's favorite CSI.

War – 

No d.b.'s here. Getting bored. Kidding!

See you soon.

- Sara

Greg's was tacky and loud, and she smiled when she saw it. It featured a stuffed jackalope wearing hunting garb, carrying a tiny rifle.

Greg – 

Rejoice, for I have bought you a postcard.

-Sara

Nicky's postcard was a smooth lake, with all the surrounding landscape reflected in it. She guessed that Nick would read as much from the front of the postcard as he would from the back. She hoped so. There was only so much she could fit in a 3" square. There was even less that she could say that would explain how she felt.

Nicky – 

Can't seem to get away, no matter how far or how fast. But getting better.

Love,

Sara

She mails them from a box outside the convenience store. She wonders if they will mention their postcards in the lab when they receive them. 

She wonders if he will feel anything when he doesn't get one.

Surely not.

That evening, she reaches the border. NOW LEAVING WYOMING, the sign reads. A mile later, another sign welcomes her to Montana. 

"I have no idea where I am," she says to the empty road, the vanilla "Little Tree", and the tired air in her car, "but he's here."

She wills herself to outrun him.


	5. flying

A/N: Thanks to all who are reading, and to those who choose to review. I really appreciate your kind words, I find them very encouraging. 

This chapter introduces two original characters. They are mine. All recognizable characters are not. 

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Part Five: Montana –Flying

She stops for the night in Billings. The terrain is getting flatter, and tomorrow she will cross the border into North Dakota and see the plains for the very first time. Here, there are few trees. There are a few dry patches of grass and a couple of shabby buildings. The earth reminds her of old science fiction movies, of life on another planet.

She finds a decent motel for the night and walks downtown. Billings is a college town, and while it is summer term, it is still a busier city than most in Montana. There are a few trendy boutiques, coffee shops, and cafes. 

She passes them all.

She walks past a rather noisy bar; the music is loud as a couple exits the building, arm in arm. She peers in the window and a few patrons actually wave to her. She decides to go in, it seems like a friendly place. And maybe she can get a vegetable pizza or something.

She makes her way to the far corner and sits at a square table by herself. A young waitress brings her a light beer, and Sara orders a cheese and mushroom pizza. She is finishing her second beer by the time the waitress comes back with the small pizza, piping hot and smelling delicious.

She is finishing the last slice when the waving patrons stop by her table. They smile at her and say hello. They ask if she's passing through. They tell her their names are Fly and Donna. She tells them her name, and mainly out of habit asks if they'd like to join her.

She's a little taken aback when they actually do, but they seem nice and remind her of the people in Vegas, far too sophisticated even for this sophisticated Montana town. They tell her they are from Washington State, Olympia originally, and that they came out here to go to college.

"We love it here so much that we can't leave," Donna laughs.

They ask her what she's doing on her trip, where she's going and why. She makes some sort of feeble excuse about needing to get rid of some extra vacation time, and Fly and Donna share a pointed look. They don't believe her, and Donna says so.

"I'm outrunning a man," Sara finally tells them, and they look at her with their eyes afraid. 

"You're running from a man," Donna asks. "He's chasing you? Are you in danger?" 

Sara wonders how many screwdrivers Donna has had tonight. "I'm not really running from a man," she tells them, and they relax somewhat. "I'm just trying to run away from my feelings."

Donna raises a sleepy eyebrow. "Unrequited love?"

For a drunk girl, Donna is keenly astute. 

"So," Fly starts. "Tell us, what happened?"

Sara shrugs. She doesn't mind making vague references and telling people bits and pieces of the story, but she is uncomfortable with him asking. 

Donna, the keenly astute drunk girl, picks up on this. "Fly, it's not really any of your business.

Fly blushes. "Sorry," he says.

Sara shrugs again. "You just took me off guard, that's all," she tells them. "He's older than me, and my boss, and I've been in love with him for years," she starts. She flags down the waitress and requests another beer. "And our lab blew up," she says.

"Bitchin," Fly says.

"Shut up, Fly," Donna says.

Sara watches the couple in front of her. They remind her more of siblings than lovers. "Anyway, our lab blew up, and I asked him to dinner, and he said no."

"Maybe he wasn't hungry," Fly offers.

Donna glares at him. "I don't think it's that easy, Fly."

"Why not?"

Sara stares at him and wonders if he's stoned.

"It never is," Sara answers for her new, keenly astute, drunk friend. "Especially with him. I don't know what I was expecting, but I asked, and he said no, and now I'm screwed."

"He's your boss, there's an age difference," Donna says. "There's a litany of reasons why he would say no. But why take no for an answer? Why not try again?"

The waitress returns with Sara's beer. "I dunno," Sara answers. "I guess there's only so much rejection I can take."

"So what are you going to do now," Fly asked. "I mean, you can't be on vacation forever."

"That's just it," Sara tells them, lighting a cigarette. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she says. "I don't know what to think or what to say or how to act when I get back."

Donna purses her lips together and looks as though she's going to say something terribly important.

She sneezes, instead.

"Bless you," Sara and Fly tell her, in unison.

"How do you feel," Donna asks. In response to Sara's confused look, she continues. "I mean, do you still care about him? Can you go on, and live your life, still loving him? Or do you need to get over him before you can go on with life?"

Sara leans her chin on her fist and stares at the dartboard hanging on the wall. "I have always loved him, and I doubt I'll ever stop." She rubs her sternum absent-mindedly. "It's like a piece of my heart will always belong to him."

Fly nods. "You never forget your first love, Sara."

"Have you," she asks them both.

"Hell no," they reply in unison. They even shake their heads the same.

"And yet, you've moved on," Sara states. "You are in love with one another, completely?"

Donna shrugs. "Sure," she says. "I love him, but face it, Sara. You never really get over heartbreak. It slowly becomes more manageable, yes. But you'll never really get over it. Not if it was truly love that you felt, and not some infatuation. But you move on, because," she seems to search the air around her for a word. "Because if you don't, you just…die inside. You move on because it's how you live."

Fly nods again.

Sara looks at them, skeptically. 

"Honestly, Sara," Donna says. "It's true. The way I see it, you have two choices. You either accept the fact that you'll always love him, and close yourself off from the world," she raises an eyebrow at her. She doesn't seem to be in favor of this option. "Or you can accept your love for him and the hurt you feel and move on. If you ask me, the solution is obvious." She crosses her arms over her chest, pleased with her advice.

Fly sits beside her, his head bobbing enthusiastically.

Sara nods, slowly comprehending. She can't stop loving Grissom, not completely; and the pain she feels will never really go away, she knows that. She is sure she doesn't want to cut herself off from the world. 

"The solution really is obvious," she says, more to herself than to her new friends.

Fly and Donna look at each other and smile.

Sara grins at them and lights another cigarette. The waitress walks by and asks if she'd like another beer. 

"Sure," she says. She gestures to her companions. "How about a round for the table, on me," she says. 

They smile at her adoringly. 

"Now let's get down to business," Sara says, setting her elbows on the table. "What the hell kind of name is Fly, anyway?"


	6. Feeling

This part contains another original character. He belongs to me. Sara, obviously, does not. 

Part Six: North Dakota – Feeling ****

North Dakota is flat as a pancake, and less exciting. She drives away from the heat of the early evening sun, heading east. She had spent most of the morning hung over after her evening in Billings with Fly and Donna, and so she doesn't make it as far as she'd planned. She'd wanted to make it through North Dakota in one day, but now she decides she'll have to stop in Bismarck for the night, if she can make it that far. The car is running on fumes, and she has twenty miles to go.

She knew she wouldn't make it, deep down she knew. But she still curses a blue streak when the car starts to sputter on the freeway. She coasts into the slow lane, turning on her hazard lights and swearing up and down about idiot gas tanks. The car finally comes to a halt on the shoulder, 19.5 miles outside of Bismarck, North Dakota.

"This is a God-forsaken state," she mutters. She climbs out of the car. She's wearing comfortable shoes, and she is glad. She grabs her bag and starts out along the lonely stretch of highway, walking in long strides, racing her shadow to Bismarck. 

She has gone a few miles when a car pulls along side her. She is about to shoot the driver a glare, or perhaps give him the finger, when she sees it is a Highway Patrol car. 

She feels it's best to avoid offending law enforcement personnel; being as she is one herself.

The officer rolls down his window. "Is that your car back there, three miles or so?"

Sara nods. "Ran out of gas," she says.

"Nearest fill station is about fifteen miles," he tells her. "Would you like a lift there and back to your car?"

Sara weighs her options. She asks herself if she should trust him. Her Vegas voice inside her head thinks about crimes involving hitchhikers. And really, she doesn't mind the walk. But it will be dark sooner than later, and that, she thinks, will suck. Maybe once in a while she should accept people at face value. If he says he's a Highway Patrol officer, than he probably is. And this is North Dakota, after all. It's quiet and flat, and even the air feels slow. On the other hand, she doesn't want to take up his time. 

"I wouldn't want to impose," she tells the officer. "There are probably a lot of ne'er do wells on the North Dakota highways," she says, and she smiles. 

He grins at her comment. "Nah," he shakes his head. "Believe it or not," he tells her. "It's no trouble. Besides, it will be getting dark soon, and I don't want you to have to walk all the way back to your car in the dark."

It's reasonable, she thinks, so she gets in the car. It is a speedy ride to the filling station. He asks her about her travels. He's been to Vegas, he tells her. 

"You and just about everyone else," she says, flatly, and his eyes flash a hurt look. 

She is hungry, and crabby about her car. She feels bad for sounding bitter. She explains this to him in apology.

He just smiles an easy-going sort of smile at her. "It's okay. Had you ever been to North Dakota before today?"

Sara shakes her head, no.

"You and just about everyone else," he says, and she laughs in spite of herself. He is handsome; tall, powerfully built, with dark hair and eyes. She likes him.

"What is it like, working in such a small city," she asks.

He looks thoughtful. "I guess you could say it's alright," he says. "Safe. And a little boring," he tells her. He pulls along side a gas pump. They've arrived at the filling station. "Tell me," he says as they climb out of the vehicle, "what is it like to work in Las Vegas?"

Sara grins at him as he pumps gas into a red gas can. She thinks he's very chivalrous. "Crazy," she says. "Never boring."

He pays for her gas and they get back in the car. They head back, both quiet, and he stands by and watches while she fills her tank. 

"Thanks again for paying for the gas," she tells him. "And for the ride," she says. "You shouldn't have."

He reassures her that it's no trouble. He kicks a pebble with his boot and tells her he's getting off shift in ten minutes. He shyly asks her if she'd like to grab dinner with him.

She beams at him. "That'd be nice," she says.

He blushes a little. "All right," he says, and proceeds to give her directions to a restaurant. "I'll be there soon," he tells her.

Later, the restaurant staff is putting chairs up on tables to sweep underneath them. The surly teenagers are scowling when they think no one's looking, worried that the officer and his new friend will make their closing take longer. 

The officer, Cory Johnson, gazes at his new friend, the criminalist from Las Vegas, in admiration. He thinks she is beautiful and smart and interesting, and he is all aflutter inside. 

The criminalist from Las Vegas is impressed with the officer from Bismarck, more so than she would like to admit. She thinks he is funny and smart and very handsome, with an honest, wholesome quality that she finds attractive. She wishes North Dakota wasn't so very far away from Nevada; and while she feels giddy in his presence, she feels sad.

She felt sad last night, when she finally bid adieu to Fly and Donna, but this is a much different sort of sad. 

He walks her to her car, and they hug. She listens to the sounds of this city in the dark and to his breathing just above her ear, and she commits it to memory, along with his smell and the way his jacket feels in her hands. 

She stands on her tiptoes and places a kiss on his lips, softly, and he gasps a little, and returns the kiss ardently, if but for a moment.

"Don't," he finally whispers, "because - " He doesn't finish, and she doesn't need him to. His breathing is ragged and he looks at her with eyes that are at once lustful and hopeful and sad, and that is all the explanation she needs. "I wish you could stay," he says. 

She gives him a wistful smile. "I need to leave tomorrow morning," she says.

"I know," he says. "Sara," he says, and he holds her again, close to him, and a tear sneaks down her cheek. "I would, you know," he says, and she thinks she does know. "But we've just met, and I don't do that sort of thing," he says. "You know, on the first date." She thinks she sees him blush in the dark.

Life is so unfair, she decides. A great guy like Cory is a rare find, indeed. So of course he needs to live thousands of miles away. 

"I know," she says, not bothering to tell him that she probably **would **do that sort of thing, at least today. "This sucks," she says, and sniffles, and this takes the edge off and makes both of them laugh. 

They take down each other's emails, phone numbers, addresses, and other pertinent information. He tells her he goes to Vegas at least once a year, with his buddies, for a gambling weekend. He promises to call, to email, to write, and visit.

She can't say she has plans to visit North Dakota again, but the way he looks at her makes her wish that she could. She tells him she'd love to get together when he comes to Vegas, and it's true.

He wishes her a safe trip. He tells her he'll call in a week and make sure she's gotten home. He strokes her cheek with his left hand. He thanks her for running out of gas, and she smiles.

"My pleasure," she says.


	7. Miracle

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Part Seven: South Dakota –Miracle

South Dakota begins, for her, the journey home. Now she heads south, toward Vegas, toward all she's been running from all along. A sense of dread wells up in her stomach, but at the same time she is looking forward to getting back to work, and to her apartment and her cat and her uneventful life. She drops Cory a postcard at a rest stop. 

Cory – 

Thanks for dinner!

Love,

Sara

She drops another one to Nick.

Nicky – 

You wouldn't believe what's been happening, even if I told you.

Miss you. Be home soon.

Sara

She never really dreamed that this trip would be so cathartic, or so healing. Her life today is completely different from her life one week ago; her priorities totally turned upside down. Grissom is the furthest thing from her mind at this moment. The blue stone is tucked into a sock in a pillowcase filled with dirty laundry. 

And yet, she is still sad; she feels she has left friends behind, in Fly and Donna, and someone who is to her already more than a friend. She cries a little, when she thinks of time and distance, and how cruel they both are. She likes Cory. She wishes she could see him again.

But at the same time she feels liberated. She wants to stand on the top of a mountain and tell the world about her feelings. Over the past week she has come to understand a great deal about herself, and a change has begun, deep within her. The night in Colorado, when she spoke to the bartender with the bloodshot, vacant eyes, was a first for her. She spoke to a stranger, went out of her way to speak with someone outside of the walls she had built. 

And it had felt good.

And the night she met Fly and Donna, she recalls being scared at first, intimidated by their openness and the way they approached everyone as a friend. She wasn't used to people who were so free and unguarded with their emotions, but it felt good to be with them, to feel that way herself. She feels honest and more free than she has since she was in school. Since before she met Grissom. 

She wonders if he is responsible, at least in a small part, for the walls she has built around herself the past few years. After all, she idolized him for years. She couldn't help but replicate what she'd seen in someone she admired. Someone she loved.

Not that she blames him, really. Although it sure beats blaming herself.

She wonders what would happen if tomorrow, someone in her life were to pass away. What about Nicky, her best friend? Or Warrick or Catherine or Greg? Or even Grissom. Sure, she knew how she felt about them. She knew they were important to her. But did they know, too?

She resolves to break down some walls, to overcome her awkward social habits.

She hopes it's not too late.


	8. God

****

Part Eight: Nebraska – God

The morning dawns chilly in Nebraska, and she snuggles deeper under the bleach-scented motel bed linens. She dreams of long, unending roads and wakes with a now familiar feeling. Optimism. She showers quickly. She can't wait to get on the road. 

The trip she was second-guessing in Utah has become, for her, a godsend. Her adventures have healed her, in a way, and now when she thinks about the lab and Grissom she doesn't feel the painful twist in her tummy like she once did. It all seems like a miracle, like childhood Christmas mornings, when all of her memories are in black and white with fuzzy edges. 

She doesn't believe in God, not the way that your average churchgoer believes in God. After what she sees every day, it's hard for her to accept deity at all; but her hippie parents taught her well. 

God is all around us.

She stops at a state park to eat lunch and stretch her legs. She walks along a hiking trail. She hears a rushing sound, like water, and realizes that the Platte is nearby. She concentrates on the sounds her boots make on the trail, sticks snapping and dirt crunching underfoot, and on the sound of the water. She feels a little like she's communing with God, and while the scientist part of her scoffs at the notion, her mother and father's daughter finds it a perfectly natural. Logical, even. 

There is sacredness in everyone, in everything that lives or was alive. This is part of her belief system that she still subscribes to. It helps her to deal with the gruesome discoveries she makes on a nightly basis. Seeing a victim as a divine person, a sacred thing, helps her to see beyond the gore. Helps her to find justice for them.

Her thoughts flow easily now. She sees patterns in past behavior, both on her part and on Grissom's. She sees mistakes and hurts with honest eyes. She fears that things won't be so clear back home, in the lab. There they are close together, indoors, with deadlines and personal issues. Life is like a vacuum in the lab; nothing exists outside of it except crime scenes. Nothing exists inside of it except for the pursuit of the truth and a sprinkle of personal drama added to spice things up a bit. 

She thinks there is something ironic about her relationship with Grissom. Their job is to uncover the truth for the victims. All Grissom and Sara do is feed one another lies. Why? Why lie to one another? It all seems so futile now. She thinks about all the wasted time, and wasted effort. All for not. All to just make more mistakes; cause more pain; tell more half-truths or outright lies; deny themselves something that could save them both.

In her every day life she can never get her mind to slow down enough to listen to the silence. Her brain is never really silent anyway. Whatever it is she's doing right now is helping, she thinks. 

She feels better.

Thank God.


	9. Found

We're rounding third, people. Sara's almost home. Thank you all for your sweet reviews. 

****

Part Nine: Colorado – Found

She stops at the same dark, greasy, and nameless bar when she passes back through Colorado. She sits down at the bar and taps a fresh pack of cigarettes against the heel of her left hand. It is late afternoon, and the establishment is quiet.

"What can I getcha, Hon," the waitress with the bloodshot almond eyes sidles over. She coughs, then, a wretched smoker's cough, and wipes her hand on her blue jeans.

Sara's eyebrows furrow at the thought of all that bacteria. 

"Gin and tonic, please." Perhaps the quinine will help disinfect the situation. She lights a cigarette and takes a long pull.

"Hey," the waitress exclaims, tapping her fingernails and snapping her gum in concentration. After a moment, it dawns on her. "Hey, it's you! How's it going, little gal? Have you found yourself yet?"

Sara thinks back on their conversation. "You were right," she tells her. 

The waitress raises an eyebrow at her.

"It was inside me all along."

"What was it you were looking for, Hon?"

Sara takes a long swig of her drink. "That's a good question." A few feasible possibilities run through her mind before she settles on one. "I guess the best answer would be my true self." She chews on her lower lip. "And I remember what I love about life."

The woman grins at her, a wide smile. "Well shit," she says. "That's great, little gal." She takes a draw off of her own cigarette and exhales a moment later. "So what is it you love about life, sweetheart?"

Sara beams at her friend, the first one she made on her trip. "All the possibilities."


	10. Perfect

****

Utah – Perfect

She walks into a posh salon without an appointment. The girl behind the counter peers down her nose at Sara's frumpy, wrinkled outfit, but she doesn't care.

"May I help you," the posh counter girl asks, looking over her glasses.

"I'd like a hair cut," she tells her. She thinks the girl looks like a cast off from the 'Addicted to Love' video.

"Do you have an appointment?"

Sara shrugs and attempts a conciliatory smile. "I was hoping for a cancellation," she said. "But if there's nothing available, I can certainly go somewhere else."

The Robert Palmer girl smiles an icy smile. "Let me check to see if anyone can take you now," she leaves her, going in search of someone with nothing to do.

Sara leans against the counter, rolling her eyes at the shampoo displays. She takes a bottle off the shelf and examines the price tag. If she wasn't leaning against the counter, she might fall over. $25.00 seems a little high for such a small bottle of shampoo, she thinks.

Moments later the haughty counter girl comes back around the corner, with a stylist in tow. "Ethan is available to see you now," she gestures to the man with her. 

An hour later, she is staring back at her reflection, in absolute shock at what she sees. Her hair is six inches shorter, with a sassy flip, short bangs, and a few reddish highlights. 

Ethan is a miracle worker, she thinks. She is in awe of her own self.

She thinks she looks like a woman. A real woman, sexy and confident. Like Catherine, only not like Catherine at all.

Like herself. 

She's terrified.

She walks down the quiet afternoon streets of Salt Lake City, window shopping and sipping a pineapple smoothie. Passersby look her in the eye instead of looking away. In their eyes she sees admiration with a tinge of jealousy, and she knows that she's been in their shoes before. 

She can't help but grin. It's foolish, really. Feeling so beautiful after a hair cut. It's foolish and frivolous and **girl_y_**.

But she thinks it's not so much the haircut as it is something else. This change is more than just physical; rather, the haircut is a physical manifestation of the change that's gone on within her. Now she feels perfect and beautiful, shiny and new, on the inside **and**the outside.

Perhaps she is ready to go home after all.


	11. Home

****

Part Eleven: Nevada –Home

She arrives at her apartment in the early hours of the morning. Sunshine runs to the door to greet her, almost like a dog, and she bends down and scratches behind his ears. His litter box is immaculate, his food and water bowls are filled, and Nicky is sleeping on her couch. 

She takes in his disheveled appearance while she checks her mail. A few bills, a card from Fly and Donna, and a fat envelope from 2279 Tiger Tail Trail, Apartment 304, Bismarck, North Dakota. 

Cory. 

She holds the envelope close to her nose and for a moment she can almost smell him again and hear the sounds of that night and feel his kiss on her lips. She reads his letter like a woman starved, and it is at once thrilling and a little mundane, as life in Bismarck is not all that exciting. But she is glad to hear from him, and she can hear his voice in her mind and she is not feeling as lonely as she was before. 

Nick stirs on the couch, mumbling and blinking a little at the rays of sun sliding through the slats in her window blinds. He sits up with a start when he wakes up and realizes he's not alone, and he breaks out a grin for her as wide as Texas. 

"Sar!" He stands up, ambling over to her, pulling her in close for a hug. "I like," he tells her, pushing a strand of her new, shorter hair behind her ear. 

She smiles her gap-toothed grin for him. "I want to hear everything," she tells him. "What's been going on since I left?"

He shakes his head at her. "No way," he says. "You first. I got your postcard, the one from South Dakota. What happened that I won't believe?"

She looks like the cat who's eaten the canary. "There are many things."

"All right," he says, "two can play at that game." He picks up a piece of paper on the end table by her telephone. "Who's Cory, and why did he call twice since yesterday?"

She glares at him. "Did you answer my phone?"

"No, I just wrote down who called. In case the messages got deleted. There was one call from a Donna, with a guy yelling in the background, and then this Cory twice." Nick walks into the kitchen, continuing to talk. "And then, last night, these were delivered," he comes back into the living room with a large vase of summer flowers. "Now, I didn't peek, but based on my superior investigative skills, I'd say these came from the aforementioned Cory." He smiles at her, ruefully. "This is a nice bouquet, Sara. Kind of spendy."

She can't help it. She wants to stay cool in front of him, but she melts when she sees the flowers. "Aww," she gasps, "they're beautiful." She takes out the card, and reads the note.

To the beautiful Sara Sidle – 

Thanks for one of the best nights of my life, so far.

Love,

Cory

"Whoa!" Nick exclaims from his perch over her shoulder. 

Sara turns on him with a glare. "Did you have to do that? Can't I have a little privacy?"

He looks suitably chastised. 

"It's not like that, anyway," she tells him. "I don't have sex with strangers. We just talked. Had dinner. That sort of thing."

"Ah," he nods. "Understood." He places his hand over his heart. "I'm sorry I looked. I just…" he looks away. "I just figured you weren't going to tell me yourself."
    
    Sara shrugs. "It's alright. I'm not really mad."

Nick smiles at her, softly. "Good," he tells her.

"Thanks for taking care of Sunshine. And for apartment sitting." She looks down at her shoes. "And for being my friend," she says.

Nick's eyes widen a little. "Hey," he says, hugging her close. "It's the least I can do," he tells her. "You're important to me. You're like family," he tells her, pushing another strand of hair behind her ear. He presses a kiss to her forehead. "We're like a big, dysfunctional family." He grins, and then turns away. "I should get out of your hair," he smiles sheepishly at her. "I'm glad you're home, Sweetheart." He picks up his backpack and places his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave. 

"Nicky," she says. "Thanks again. Bro."

He smiles at her again. "You know, if you weren't like a sister to me," he stops. "You really are beautiful," he says, quickly, before shutting the door behind him.

"Thanks," she says in a loud voice. She knows he heard her.


	12. So Far Away

****

Part Twelve: The Lab – So Far Away

The gang welcomes her back with open arms; well, all except for Grissom who stays hidden in his office. They greet her with hugs, pecks on the cheek, compliments on her hair. Not surprisingly, she is assigned a case with Nick and Catherine, she sees little of Grissom on her first night.

She hangs photos of Fly and Donna and herself with Cory on the inside of her locker. She wants to keep them close to her, even here. Perhaps especially here.

She stops by Grissom's office as she is preparing to leave, to drop off some paperwork. He looks up at her with a wistful expression.

"The rest of the team received postcards, Sara," he points out. "Greg talked about his non stop for days." He looks a little hurt. "I'm sorry about what happened in my office, when you…" he stops speaking and removes his glasses. "But you took me by surprise, and regardless of how I feel about you," he gives her a pointed look. "I can't see you socially." She sees confusion and fear in his eyes. 

She nods, smiling a half smile. She knows all of this, now.

"Sara, are you punishing me?" He looks down at his hands. "Did you think of me at all, while you were gone?"

Sara smiles. She digs into the pocket of her purse, holding something small out to him in the palm of her hand. 

He stretches his arm out, allowing her to drop the item into his cupped hand. It is smooth and cool in his palm; and he stares at the blue stone as if to compel it to speak to him.

"A little," she says. 

He furrows his brow at her.

"Good night," she tells him.

He stares after her retreating back, again, and he hears her words from before in his mind. 

"You know, by the time you figure it out it, it really could be too late."

He knows, now, that it is.

Fin.

A/N: Thanks to all who joined Sara and the gang on the journey. I'm sorry if some folks are upset by the lack of GSR, but hey, we got a small admission (even if it is too late), and from Griss that's quite a big step. I am pondering another piece that mirrors this time frame (actually it's started, but it may be headed to the circular file). I would appreciate any comments with regard to this idea. Thanks to all for your reviews. Finally the title of this last chapter comes from the Staind song. It's a song about transformation, and I think that Sara would like it. Oh yeah, and it pretty much rocks.


End file.
